


Experiment

by obstinatrix



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Object Insertion, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 09:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15093965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obstinatrix/pseuds/obstinatrix
Summary: In which there is abuse of medical instruments and Watson is eager to see how much Sherlock Holmes can accommodate.





	Experiment

**Author's Note:**

> For come_at_once

"I hope you do not imagine," Holmes said, eyeing the object in my hand, "that there is even the remotest possibility of your fitting that particular item--" 

"Into your rapacious arse?" I took him by the wrist and grinned my best docklands bar-room grin, an affectation which never failed to bring a blush to his cheeks. "My dearest Holmes, I don't have to imagine. I know." 

Where I had procured the item in question is what Holmes would call immaterial to the fabric of the case, but it is a diversion I find rather interesting, so: I had bought it from a medical catalogue, under my own name, no less. It was, in fact, a dilator with numerous respectable medical uses, according to the bright lights of the profession. I fancy they never anticipated the use to which I intended to put it. Perhaps I am wrong. 

Still, it did not take the world's foremost consulting detective to deduce my intentions from contextual data, given Holmes's and my own mutual positions. The tableau was something along these lines: I, in drawers half-unlaced with my cockstand threatening an end to the matter, half-crouched over Holmes on his narrow bed, his delicate wrist in my hand and his waist caught between my thighs. Holmes himself was entirely bare, his body pale and fine as a skein of silk against the sheets. He is flawless, an angelic canvas, and naturally this stimulates in me the overwhelming desire to make my filthy mark upon him. 

"Watson," he rasped, his glass-grey eyes darting between the dilator and my face. Holmes once fancied himself a locked box, but I had long ago discerned his cipher. He was attempting to establish the best method by which either to escape this situation entirely or to turn it about on me, but I was, for once, a step ahead of him. With all the strength of my arm, I forced his wrist up over his head, bearing him down onto the bed until my full weight was upon him, and relished the gasp of surprise it provoked. 

"Stop your talk," I said, "or I will stop it for you." 

He lifted his chin, his mouth soft and barely parted, almost touching my own. "Whyever would you want to use that-- _thing_ , my dear doctor, when you have such an admirable instrument of your own?" He turned his face, mouthing along my jaw, and breathed into my ear, "Give me your cock instead." 

"A bold move," I managed, attempting (and not entirely succeeding) to conceal the palpable hit he had scored with it. My ear tingled with his hot breath, and the sensation shivered down my body, all through my limbs, and pooled in my cockstand. But I was determined that the upper hand would be mine this evening; I mouthed the soft place below his ear by which it is possible to wreck him entirely. "You must know me better by now than to presume you could defeat me with it?" 

His chest hitched. To a man less entirely familiar with Sherlock Holmes, perhaps, it would not have been visible, but I _know_ him, every inch of him body and mind, and it sets him at a disadvantage. I lowered my mouth to his, and was not surprised when he groaned against me. 

It was not our first kiss of the evening, and his mouth was ready for mine, his tongue teasing the inner curve of my lower lip and encouraging reciprocation. Dutifully, hungrily, I pushed my tongue between his lips and felt him shiver beneath me, his long thighs parting. I could feel his own prick hard between us, despite his protestations, and I ran both hands down his slender flanks, letting him feel the coolness of the object caught in my right fist. 

"John --" He tipped back his head, his eyelashes dark on his cheekbones, and I thought I had him. My free hand crept between his legs, finding him humid and responsive there as I pressed my knuckles to his perineum, feeling for the pucker of his arsehole. 

"Yes?" 

"Damn you," he cursed, reaching for the petroleum jelly, and I laughed into the curve of his throat, slicking my fingers with it when he brought the jar near. 

As ever, he was tight around me, his muscles smooth and squeezing my fingers as I worked him open. His pupils, when he opened his eyes to watch me, were black-blown, and the flush which rises in him only when we do this had spread to his throat. With two fingers seated inside him, I carefully brought the instrument down, brushing it against him so he could feel it, and he turned his face to the side, hips lifting. 

"If you must," he said, but his voice was tight, and I withdrew my fingers slowly, watching his face as he registered the emptiness. When I pressed the dildo against him, he breathed out visibly, swallowing up its smooth length easily, and I exhaled in sympathy at the sight of it, the feel. 

"Holmes," I breathed, registering the strange pleasure of the object moving from my hand into his body, breaching him. "Oh God, Holmes. You see, there is nothing you cannot do." 

"Obviously." He threw me what I could only categorise as a smirk, and I retaliated with a sharp thrust of the instrument, which elicited a cry from him, and certainly wiped the smirk from his face. 

I fucked him that way until I could sustain it no longer, the throb of the muscle in my arm combining with the ache in my own cock to make the situation no longer tenable. It was more difficult than I imagined to do this, holding him down at the hips and working the instrument back and forth while his body gripped and pushed at it; but I judged it to be worth it, not only for the look on his face and the way his hard prick grew harder with each thrust, but because of the capacity to watch how it looked, his hole opening and clenching around an object. Holmes loves to be buggered, can ejaculate from that alone, and it is a beauty to behold. Sooner or later, there reached a point where I could no longer stand only to watch. 

When I withdrew the instrument without warning, he groaned, but when I resettled myself between his legs, he understood immediately what I proposed to do, both hands grasping for my hips. The timbre of his voice shifted, and his fingers were trembling as they reached for me. 

"Yes, yes," he said, "Watson -- _please_ \--" 

That did it. A _please_ coaxed out of Sherlock Holmes in such circumstances is a moment to be treasured, and I treasured it indeed as I sheathed myself inside him, pushing myself to the hilt into the clutch of him. He rose up to meet me, legs clutching me to him, and I let myself sink, the instinctive rocking motion of my body beginning almost without my instigation, Holmes, _Holmes_ \-- 

It is difficult to describe what came after that moment of our joining, both because words seem inadequate and because my mind disintegrated immediately into raw sensation, the animal joy of feeling him around and under me. His mouth was on my throat, then on my mouth; I kissed him wetly as I fucked into him, the wet head of his cockstand dragging against my stomach. He moaned into my mouth; my hips stuttered, and I reached between him, feeling his pre-ejaculate slicking my fingers. 

"John --" He dug his fingers into the muscle of my shoulders, too hard, a certain sign. The next moment, I felt the wet heat of him between us, slicking my way, and after that I could not hold back, bolting towards the finish as I let myself piston into him. When I came, I dug my teeth into his shoulder; it would leave a mark, I knew. I could not bring myself to care; or rather, in that moment, I longed to see the bruise in the morning. 

Afterwards, he lay in my arms, the instrument flung somewhere among the tangle of sheets on the bed. Holmes caught the direction of my gaze, spotted it, and laughed softly in a voice gone ragged with overuse. I smiled at him and kissed his chin. 

"You know," I said, "they make those items in larger sizes. You always have expressed a love of experiments, Holmes." 

I'm afraid he promptly beaned me with the nearest available pillow, but I had felt it worth an attempt, at least.


End file.
